


O My Chevalier!

by wildmachinery



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-12
Updated: 2003-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildmachinery/pseuds/wildmachinery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She speaks to him, to herself, perhaps to God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O My Chevalier!

Her skin is fever-hot under his lips. The taste is harsh and clean and wild on his tongue, like river ice. Like snow.

She speaks to him, to herself, perhaps to God. In breaths and gasps and murmured sighs, she speaks poetry he has never heard before and will never forget again. _Brute beauty,_ she cries, _and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, oh,_ she whispers, _oh,_ and it sounds like prayer, _oh,_ and she says his name in a way that will make him blush, _Ben, Ben, Ben,_ it will make him blush, but not now, not with her. Not here, as he is, stripped bare and shameless for the first time before her eyes and mouth and hands.

He kisses her mouth with a frostbite tingle and he knows in the back of his mind that this will hurt like nothing else; but that is for later, and in this moment, all of it is perfect, all of it is right. He's lost everything to find her, his pack and his warmth and his will and his heart; he has died and been reborn and he's never felt like this, never, never, crescendo like flying ...

 _Dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon_ , he breathes to her and her alone, and lightning crashes white behind his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [ds_flashfiction](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_flashfiction/192013.html). The following poem is the one Fraser recites at the end of Victoria's Secret.
> 
>   
> **The Windhover: To Christ Our Lord**   
> 
> 
> I caught this morning morning's minion, kingdom  
> of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding  
> Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding  
> High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing  
> In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,  
> As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding  
> Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding  
> Stirred for a bird, -- the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
> 
> Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here  
> Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion  
> Times told lovelier, more dangerous, o my chevalier!  
> No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion  
> Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,  
> Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.
> 
> \- Gerard Manley Hopkins (1845-1889)  
> Composed in 1877, Published in 1918    
> 


End file.
